When Fabel and Van Heiden entered the Rathaus, the huge main hall with its colonnades and multi-vaulted ceiling opened up to them. A few dozen tourists were scattered throughout the hall, clustered around the illuminated glass displays that circle the immense pillars. The Kriminaldirektor was about to say something when a liveried official approached the two policemen.

‘I’ve been asked to meet you gentlemen and take you to meet his honour the Erste Bürgermeister.’

The Bürgermeistersaal, the room used for official and ceremonial functions, is on the second floor of the Rathaus, just off the main tower hall. The working offices of Hamburg’s Erste Bürgermeister, however, are on the ground and first floors, set in the south-east corner of the building. It was to the first floor Bürgermeisterzimmer that Fabel and Van Heiden were conducted.

Schreiber stood up when they entered his oak-panelled office. Fabel noticed the cut of Schreiber’s suit. Yet more expensive Italian tailoring that hung perfectly from the Erste Bürgermeister’s powerful shoulders. But Fabel sensed that he also bore something that sat less easily than Armani: there was a certain awkwardness in his movements. Schreiber thanked the attendant and asked the two policemen to sit down. Fabel took his notebook out and flipped it open.

‘You said this was something to do with Angelika’s death?’ asked Schreiber.

Fabel paused the couple of seconds that protocol demanded, in case Van Heiden wanted to take the lead. When Van Heiden remained silent, Fabel spoke.

‘You expressed considerable concern about these murders, Herr Erste Bürgermeister …’

‘Naturally …

‘And you also made it clear you wanted as swift and successful a conclusion to the investigation as possible …’

‘Of course …’

Fabel decided to play his cards face up. ‘Then could you explain to me why you neglected to inform us that you visited Angelika Blüm the night she was killed?’

Schreiber returned Fabel’s stare, but there was no hostility, no defensiveness, no strength in the gaze. After a moment, Schreiber sighed. ‘Because I didn’t want to get caught up in all of this. The scandal. As you can imagine, the press would have a field day …’ Schreiber looked in Van Heiden’s direction, as if he would appreciate the point. Van Heiden gave no indication that he did.

‘Herr Doktor Schreiber, you are a lawyer, so you understand your rights under the relevant articles of the Grundgesetz, and that your answers to our questions from now on may be used in evidence.’

Schreiber’s broad shoulders sagged. ‘Yes, I understand.’

Fabel leaned forward, resting his elbows on the carved lion-claw arm rests of the oak chair. ‘And I take it you understand that I – that we – do not give a rat’s ass about your concerns about the media. You have withheld potential information about a series of murders. Murders, I have to point out, for which you are fast becoming a prime suspect. There are women being butchered – and I don’t mean that metaphorically – and you are worried about your PR?’